Girl with the Pink Pen

Sometimes life is a constant battle with nostalgia of a time that can't be real again!  Memories linger and remind me of the secrets and smiles we shared.  That was a carefree and happy time,  Where we were unaware of the upcoming twists and turns  And the miles of separation that destiny had in store for us. I have sweet memories of us.  Walking hand in hand, off to to play basketball..  Learning lessons on and off the court.  I still think of the times of us sharing and caring and innocently loving,  I believed then that it would last a lifetime.  To this day I  treasure the little gifts that we exchanged with our meagre pocket moneys.  We dreamed so many dreams for us,  Of our lives and of changing the world together.  The dreams have been modified with reality, and  life is not exactly as we planned it to be,  Yet I hope yours is close enough to your dreams.  Today, it is not the memories that hurt.....

A recent article I read about the well meaning neighbourhood aunties who feel it is their rightful duty to advise young couples on the right time to have children got me thinking. I am well familiar with these nosey neighbours and have had my share of uncomfortable conversations. Not so recently married and still without an issue, I am often rudely and directly reminded of my perceived purpose of existence. Many a people from the reliable house help to the well wishing aunty from next door remind me how I need a child to be complete. Some have even directly told me that I need to have a child for my grandmother-in-law would need a companion to play with in her 90's. The irony of which is that grandmom was one of the first people who warned me against such advise. She had laughed and told me a year after my marriage that there would be lots of family, friends and acquaintances who would advise me to start a family now and that I must pay no heed to them. In her view, honeymoon babi...

It was a tough decision to make, and I often felt selfish for wanting it as much as I did, for only 2 years had passed since mom had her mastectomy. But what helped was the support and encouragement that I got from her. She seemed more excited about the whole thing than me. She would spend hours researching the university, the city, it's weather, foods to try, places to see, things one might need to carry while living abroad, you name it, she had researched it! I think she wanted this for me more than I wanted it for myself. And that made the decision easier. So, I accepted the offer and packed my bags, ready to leave! Mom has always been my role model, my rock. She is the kind of woman who never shed a tear. Through the toughest of life's battles, she fought on without a worry. Through the course of her treatment, she was the one who kept the whole family strong and functioning. To her, it was a simple process, to cross one bridge at a time. There was no point sitting and wor...

"Kanyadaan" literally translating to "donating a girl or maiden" is an integral part of the Indian marriage ceremony. It is the handing over of the rights and duties of a girl by her parents to the groom and his family. Wikipedia describes it as the "gift of a maiden or a virgin". It is a highly valued custom. One through which the parents of the bride are believed to be relieved of their worldly sins. As per Indian customs, the groom is a form of Lord Vishnu, and thus, presenting him with their most cherished gift is seen as a matter of great honour for the bride's parents. (Of course, one can hardly miss the irony, looking at the number of cases of female infanticide this country has!) Actually, in almost all cultures, giving away of the bride by the father is an intrinsic part of a wedding. Although, I would like to naively believe it has originated from the special bond that all daughters have with their parents, especially fathers, I know it has...

She was the apple of her parent's eye. A polite, shy, soft-spoken girl whose only friends were her novels and painting brushes. One could find her spending most of her free time in a world of her own, the only mirror to her world - her paintings, which seemed as complex and difficult to interpret as their creator. So when she finished college and started working freelance as an artist, her parents thought it was time to find a prince charming for their beautiful little Diya, the light of their lives. However heartbreaking the thought, they always knew that one day they had to give their little princess away to a bright young man, one who would treat her as tenderly as her parents did. That was their dream for their little girl. And thus the hunt began. As was common in their community, relatives were informed to find the right match for Diya. Her parents, Rajan and Kavita, gave relatives a brief of what they hoped for in a son-in-law, each time emphasising how gentle and delicate...

As I walk my way to Malone's Irish Bar, sleepy and tired, I somehow feel a sense of relief at my first dissertation submission for the session. It has been 3 months already since I came to this enchanting city.. 3 months full of new experiences and diverse emotions.. Meeting some of the most interesting mix of people.. I still remember it like it was yesterday that I walked out of the airport, the chilling cold breeze lifted my spirits with the excitement of the year to come.. A warm smile on my lips... Winter has set in.. 3 pm and it is dark already.. As I come to the entrance of the Meadows I suddenly halt.. there is a sense of  anxiety  that overpowers me.. I am familiar with this feeling but have not felt it since I arrived in this city.. I wonder why there is this shiver in my spine.. and suddenly the quiet loneliness fills me up.. My brain has already set in action the reactions to this anxiety.. all my senses are heightened.. my heartbeat is racing.. I keep loo...

"Is it 6 am already?!" Smita thought to herself as she placed the pillow over her ears to drown the noise of her mother's calls to wake her up. After what seemed like only a few moments, she was pulled out of bed by her mother, wailing and kicking, and pushed into the shower to get dressed for school.. Listening to her granddaughter Smita sulk and shuffle her feet as she headed out the door to school, Ramya was reminded of those times when she was back in Rajkot, almost two decades ago.  Each morning, her mother would come in the room which she shared with her sister Bhavya to open the curtains and let the sunlight seep in. That day too, Ramya tried to turn over and steal those few extra minutes to sleep in while Bhavya and Nakul, her older brother, would get ready.  Today was no different...making Ramya feel glad that she was the youngest.  Slowly, as Ramya crawled out of bed and into the shower she suddenly heard a commotion from outside her room. She quickly dri...